


The Seven Liberal Arts:  Or How Education Saved a Witcher

by Aulistria



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Education, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aulistria/pseuds/Aulistria
Summary: Jaskier attended Oxenfurt Academy where he studied the seven liberal arts. Surprisingly, this is relevant to traveling and surviving as the Witcher's bard (and occasional savior of the Witcher's hide).
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 159





	1. Grammar

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only writing short stories that can exist as completed one shots that form a universe. That way I can't let anyone down and be one more thing wrong with 2020. 
> 
> Just so you're aware, I'm once again using the much more talkative and personable Geralt from the book to explain why he's occasionally very verbose. 
> 
> So the seven liberal arts as defined by the Greeks had two stages. The first: Grammar, Logic, and Rhetoric. The second: Geometry, Astronomy, Mathematics, and Music. There will be a story for each of them. 
> 
> ... sometimes I get caught in Wikipedia holes and this is where I find myself. And since I'm very pointedly staying inside, fic is where my brain is going these days. Go figure.

They needed coin. Contracts had been scarce and while Jaskier’s playing always got them enough for food and a shared room, it was not enough for the care and upkeep of a horse, a witcher’s actual appetite, and the supplies one needed to travel the continent safely and comfortably. Geralt had been unbearably crotchety for days, snarking at Jaskier’s playing, talking, and (when the snarking had gotten to a point that Jaskier was contemplating introducing his lute case to Geralt’s skull) silence. They were entering a larger town, and Jaskier was hopeful that Geralt might find a contract. Contract or no, he thought that the witcher having something to beat the shit out of might put him in a better mood. The money would be nice, though. 

Jaskier glanced at Geralt who was sulking alongside him and leading Roach to give her a rest after days of travel. The witcher clearly noticed him looking, if the huff he gave before pointedly staring ahead was any indication. Jaskier snickered at Geralt’s ire, before poking the witcher on the shoulder. “I’m going to leave you to scowl about the town. I’ll meet you at the inn later.” 

Geralt grunted disagreeably, before thrusting Roach’s reins at Jaskier. “Tie her up at the inn, if you’re headed that way. She needs water, and I want to see if the town magistrate has need of a witcher’s services. I’d rather she was rested.” 

Jaskier nodded, amiable to this. He replied, “I’ll start that way. Shall I get her a stall for the night, just in case and give her a good brush too?”

Geralt nodded and then, apparently remembering his manners and that Jaskier was here of his own free will, muttered a surly, “thanks.” He stalked off, presumably to go find a contract. Jaskier waved at him before tugging Roach towards where he hoped the inn was. 

“Gods, but your witcher can be a right dick sometimes, Roach.” He scratched firmly under the leather straps of her bridle as he led her along the thoroughfare. They came across the inn in short order, and Jaskier led the tired animal towards the stable off to the side. A stable hand came out and Jaskier passed the reins over, describing Geralt quickly and tossing the boy a coin for his diligent care of the horse. Roach taken care of, Jaskier moved towards the inn’s entrance. While he had quite some time before he’d likely play, letting the innkeep know he would be willing to do so was never a bad idea. 

The innkeeper was gleeful at the prospect of having the witcher’s bard play at the inn, and agreed to the trade of a free room if Jaskier would play that evening. Jaskier headed back out into the town. It had been far too long since he had the opportunity to peruse any literature and after days with a grumpy witcher, he was feeling bereft of intellectual stimulation. That was not to say that Geralt was dumb, Jaskier mused. Quite to the contrary, he was incredibly intelligent. However, when this level of moodiness descended upon him, he made monosyllabism look verbose. During his aimless roaming, he stumbled across a small bookshop, which he gladly entered. 

The proprietress of the establishment poked her head out from the backroom, and upon seeing Jaskier, walked out to meet him. She was a tall woman, with greying hair pulled back into a tight bun. 

Jaskier grinned at her sketching a quick bow. “Greetings, my good lady. What a treasure I have found today!” The woman blinked at him, before returning his broad smile much more reservedly. 

She much more demurely replied, “Greetings, sir. What brings you into my shop? Do you seek something specific?” She seemed somewhat put off by Jaskier’s enthusiasm. 

Jaskier dimmed his smile slightly, realizing that he might be edging slightly more towards manic than intended. He replied, “Indeed not, I have come to browse. I have been traveling for some time, and sought the solace that only a book can provide.” 

The proprietress, apparently agreeing with this, seemed to warm somewhat to Jaskier’s exuberance. “Ah! A truth, if ever I have heard one. Allow me to show you a few of the more recent arrivals. There’s one by a new author out of Oxenfurt that I have found quite compelling. He writes about the great purge in such a way that challenges the assumption of humanity. Controversial to be sure, but intriguing. Is this to your taste?” 

Jaskier, thinking back to what he had learned some ten years ago when he first started traveling with Geralt, nodded. “Indeed. I often wonder at the cruelty of humankind to those different. I would be intrigued to see what this writer says.” 

The proprietress offered the book, which Jaskier took curiously. “You seem an educated sort, sir. What brought you to our town?” 

Jaskier paused in his perusal of the book, replying, “I am a bard traveling these parts with a dear friend. I graduated from Oxenfurt, so you are not wrong about being educated, though I think my professors may have disagreed with that sentiment” 

The woman nodded and continued, “I ask becauseI know that the town magistrate has been desperately seeking an outside eye towards the final revision of last year’s town annals. Normally, I do it but I’m planning to travel to my daughter’s home a few towns over. I cannot spare the time from preparing the shop for my absence. They’re expecting their first child and I don’t want her to go through childbirth alone. If you’d be interested and are planning to be in the area for a few more days, I could put in a good word for you.” 

He paused, considering this. The woman continued, “It is not a significant sum of coin, but it is honest work.” 

Jaskier bowed to the woman. “I would be delighted for the introduction, madam.” 

She nodded. “Excellent. Meet me in the town center tomorrow morning, at the second chime of the rector’s bell. The magistrate is usually in office by then, and if you get started tomorrow it should take you no longer than three days time.” 

Jaskier nodded, and thanked the proprietress again, before bidding her farewell. He regretfully left the book he had been perusing behind. 

He met up with Geralt at the inn later that evening. The witcher seemed to be in a marginally better mood. Jaskier was tuning the strings on his lute and carefully checking the head and neck for damage before he started playing for the evening. As he did so, Geralt gruffly informed him that he’d gotten a contract that would take a few days to complete. 

Jaskier nodded. “That is fine. I believe I can continue to stay here and play for coin to help stock up our coiffers. I may also have an opportunity to review the town annals for coin, as well, which should pay a pretty price compared to only playing for our supper and room.” 

Geralt raised an eyebrow at Jaskier. “Why would they hire you to review the town annals?”

Jaskier stared at Geralt, slightly incredulous. “I am a graduate of Oxenfurt, my dear witcher. I didn’t just play lute and fuck my way through my educational years. Grammar is one of the seven liberal arts.” 

Geralt stared at the bard, apparently baffled. 

Jaskier lifted both hands, and proceeded to tick off the areas he was required to study at Oxenfurt. Adopting an accent that was clearly mocking someone, Jaskier said, “My dear Geralt. One is not _truly_ educated until they are conversant in grammar, logic, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, music, _and_ astronomy.” He stuck his nose dramatically in the air. “Honestly.” 

Geralt snorted at him. “I don’t know who you’re mocking, but they sound horrible.” 

Grinning just a little spitefully, Jaskier said, “Oh you would hate him. _I_ hate him. I spent most of my studies emphasizing music but my grasp of grammar is strong enough to edit this charming town’s annals and earn us some extra coin. Worry not about me, Geralt. The quill will not attack me while you’re gone.”

Geralt sighed at the bard’s dramatics. “I will leave tomorrow at first light and should be back in three days. I suspect that the beast causing problems is an Arachas, so try your best not to find yourself out in the forests surrounding the area while I’m gone.” 

“So noted. I don’t know why I would want to wander into the forest when I have a room, food, and a bath here.” Lute tuned and having informed Geralt of his plans, Jaskier drained the last of his mug of ale and stood. “My audience awaits, master witcher.” 

\---- 

As promised Geralt departed at first light. Jaskier lazed about, relishing the opportunity to sleep past daybreak before he rose. He went downstairs and ate a light breakfast, before heading out to the town square. As promised the book shop’s proprietress was waiting. He greeted her cheerfully and, unlike yesterday, she didn’t seem quite as alarmed by his general good humor. Ever the gentleman, Jaskier valiantly offered her his arm. She smiled, amused, and took it before beckoning in the direction of the magistrate’s office. 

“Good day, madam. I trust you are well this morning?” Jaskier asked. 

“Quite well, thank you, Master Bard. I hear you put on quite the show at the tavern last night. You failed to mention you were the witcher’s bard.” Jaskier carefully made sure his cheerful expression did not shift, immediately wary of the possibility of more bigotry towards his friend. 

“Indeed, madam. One who’s music is so well recognized must be careful to make sure that an impromptu show is not requested. I try never to disappoint a fan, but even I grow tired after days of walking!” 

She looked at him again bemused by his response. “Ah, I see. Well, I will try to come hear you play tonight. The tales of the White Wolf are much appreciated in this town!” She looked at him, her gaze wise. “You’ll find no trouble here, Master Bard.” 

Jaskier let the tightness slowly ease from his shoulders, not giving anything away in his posture. “Good to know, madam.” 

The woman nodded at the wood and stone building in front of them. “Here is the magistrate’s office. Come, allow me to introduce you. Jaskier, correct?” 

Jaskier nodded in the affirmative, and followed the proprietress into the building. Before she left, she handed over a small parcel. “I noticed you seemed particularly sad about not being able to read this. Consider it my own thanks for doing this small favor for my town.” 

As it turned out, the magistrate was gleeful at the prospect of the _witcher’s bard_ reviewing the town annals. Jaskier spent the next three days diligently reviewing the book, carefully correcting the texts using a bright red ink he had for his own manuscripts. The magistrate upon seeing this was rapturous, exclaiming joyfully at the obvious sign of care with which Jaskier was treating this project. 

“To be sure, Master Bard, your diligence is something we will mention in next year’s annals!” 

Jaskier thanked the man, “Thank you, sir magistrate. Your compliments are most welcome! I think you will find my corrections complete.” He carefully cleared away the little pot of red ink and his quill, tucking them back into his bag. 

The magistrate reached out and grasped Jaskier’s hand, effusively shaking it. “Truly, Master Jaskier! It is most appreciated!” Letting go of Jaskier’s hand, he reached into a deep pocket and pulled out a small bag of coins. “Your payment! Please, come visit our village again! And to think, just a few minutes ago the Master Witcher came back with the Arachas head.” The magistrate paused, shuddering. “Ghastly thing. But your witcher was fine, Master Bard!”

Jaskier gave his most courtly bow to the man saying, “I thank you, Sir Magistrate, for your kindness and your payment. I believe the Master Witcher will hope to depart as soon as he can, so I must be off.” 

The bard waved, and headed out to find Geralt. He checked the small purse he’d been given, pleased to see some 300 orens in hand. Not a bad fair for checking the work of a town annal. Entering the inn, he flagged the innkeep for supplies for the road, and then went to retrieve his lute and pack everything securely for travel. 

His preparations done, Jaskier exited and went to track down the witcher. Generally, this was an easy task. Geralt almost always was with Roach if he was not finding work or drinking ale. Sure enough, Roach was saddled and a some-what pleased looking witcher stood at her head, gently scrubbing his palm over her nose. 

Jaskier walked up next to him and bumped his shoulder against Geralt’s. He held up the bag of coin from his work. “It seems the seven liberal arts are good for something besides music, eh, Geralt?” 

Geralt stared at Jaskier. “Hm. Well done, bard. I suppose you’ll be allowed to stay.” Geralt grinned at him, and swung up on Roach’s back. He held a hand out to Jaskier. “You have even earned yourself passage upon Roach.” 

He stared at him, incredulously. “ _Right to stay?!_ As if I stay on your permission, master witcher. Nay I shall walk, for you have wronged me this day!” With that Jaskier turned on his heel and walked off. Geralt was cracking up behind him. “ _Do not laugh at me, Geralt_! Right to stay! You’d be starving in the hedgerows without me! Admit it!” 

Geralt nudged Roach forward with a gentle tap of his heels, and the horse dutifully followed Jaskier. “Honestly, bard. You don’t have an audience. Get on the horse.”

Jaskier sniffed and said, “I’m awaiting my apology.” 

Geralt, used to Jaskier’s antics and recognizing the bard was being impish, halted Roach and climbed off. Jaskier, hearing this, turned around. Geralt, his hand held over his heart, replied, “I’m so very sorry, Master Bard, for the slight I have caused your person. I beg you, _please_ get on the fucking horse so we can be on our way in a timely fashion.” 

Jaskier cackled delightedly. “Your apology is accepted, Master Witcher.” He walked back to Roach, waited for Geralt to mount the horse, and quickly scrambled up behind him. Hopefully the witcher’s good mood would last a few days more, with bright spirits and decent rations for the road. 


	2. Logic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our duo encounters a bridge troll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your kind words and the kudos! I hope you enjoy this continuation, and also feel free to comment with your favorite riddles, logic puzzles, and puns. 
> 
> And on that note: 
> 
> What does a snail riding on the back of a turtle say?  
> WHEEEEEEEEEEE. 
> 
> I'm a full-ass grown adult, and that joke never gets old.

Geralt shoved Jaskier back behind him and tossed the bard Roach’s reins. “ _Stay there!_ ” Geralt barked, as he drew his silver sword and squared himself up against his opponent. 

Jaskier tightened his grip on the reins in his hand and stared in fascination at the large, rather angry looking troll and his equally large mace. “I thought you said that we wouldn’t encounter any trolls if we went this way!”

Geralt, who was still waiting to see what the troll would do, tossed his head irritably (apparently channeling his horse) and replied, “Well, _Jaskier_ , when I came this way a year ago there was not a troll on this particular route!” 

The troll grunted disagreeably, and interrupted Jaskier and Geralt’s bickering. “I beg your pardon, witcher! I have been at this bridge for nigh on two years now!” 

Geralt drew himself up to his full height, a dark glower settling on his brow. Jaskier, pleased to see that this troll was far more conversationally-minded than his witcher, quickly interrupted what was sure to be a grumble from Geralt. “Sorry for my friend, master… troll. We are seeking passage over your bridge.” 

The troll lowered it’s mace, his bulbous eyes widening in delight. It said, “Oh! Well why didn’t you say so! Coming in here brandishing your long pointy stick like that, it makes a troll nervous, you know.” 

Jaskier whacked Geralt on the shoulder, hissing, “I thought you said they were unintelligent! This one can easily outwit Valdo!” He smiled at the troll and asked, “What is the cost of crossing your bridge?” 

The troll smiled a rather alarming smile. It said, “Why riddles of course! What good does a troll have for coin? These trolls that ask for payment. Bah! I collect riddles and puzzles and all manner of confounding word games.” The troll’s alarming smile grew to a rather terrifying smile. “So tell me, master bard, do you and your witcher feel up to answering?” 

Jaskier found himself rather unsettled by the troll’s grin but was confident in his ability to answer logic puzzles. He cheerfully replied, “Of course, master troll. Let the games begin!”

Geralt had already sheathed his sword, and was watching this whole exchange with the air of someone who thought he was going to have to get his idiot friend out of a sticky situation. He huffed an exasperated sigh and settled down on a convenient log to see what happened next. 

What happened next, as it turns out, was an hours-long back and forth between the troll and the bard involving riddles, logic puzzles, and really terrible puns. 

“While on my way to Temeria, I saw a man with 7 wives. Each wife had 7 sacks. Each sack had 7 cats. Each cat had 7 kittens. Kitten, cats, sacks, wives, How many were going to Temeria?” asked Jaskier. 

The troll considered this carefully. “Me!” Jaskier laughed in delight, and so on went the game. 

The troll countered with, “You live in a one level cottage made entirely of redwood. What color would the stairs be?” 

Jaskier gave this careful thought, and replied, “I wouldn’t have stairs! It is one level!” Which then ended up with a debate about whether the cottage had a front stoop, would this then count and obviously the stairs would be red, in this case. 

After several hours of back and forth, Geralt was considering just leaving the bard to chat amiably with the troll. By this point they had found out the troll’s name (ValZahun, Val for short) and they had settled down in front of the bridge and were cackling gleefully together over puns about Redanian royalty (apparently the troll had had a bad encounter, and Jaskier was always happy to shame a Redanian court member). 

Clearly, Jaskier could charm anyone, even a bridge troll. Geralt walked over to the two, and nudged Jaskier in the hip with his boot. “We need to make a useful camp by dark, bard, unless you fancy staying here with Val.” Jaskier glanced up at Geralt, seeming to finally notice the passage of time. 

“Oh, sorry Geralt. It hasn’t been since Oxenfurt that I had such witty raporte!” Geralt reared back, slightly offended that his conversational prowess ranked somewhere below a bridge troll. 

Val jumped up, surprisingly agile for such a large creature. “Of course, of course. Thank you, master bard for such a delightful day’s conversation! You are both welcome to pass without problem of course.” The troll lifted the gate to the bridge and waved them through merrily. “Do come back this way again, bard, if you can convince your witcher of it. I would be delighted to trade puzzles with you again!” 

Jaskier bowed, all courtly manners and grace. “Your conversation has been most stimulating, Master ValZahun! Until we meet again!” 

The witcher, bard, and horse walked on, Jaskier waving at the troll who lifted a massive paw and waved back. 

Geralt, feeling quite prickly by this point, grumbled at Jaskier, “You look like a child’s bobble-head. Stop that.” 

The bard turned to look at his friend. “Why are you so petulant? I got us through the bridge troll’s riddles. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

The witcher was _clearly sulking_. He pointedly kept his head turned away from the bard and scratched absently at Roach’s muzzle. “I’m not petulant, bard. These woods aren’t particularly safe at night and you can get yourself into trouble in the middle of an empty clearing.” 

The bard suspiciously narrowed his eyes at the witcher. “You’re sulking. You only deflect with poorly worded insults when you’re sulking. Also you’ve been calling me bard for the last three hours.” 

The witcher whipped his head around to aim a threatening gaze at the bard. It didn’t work. “I am _not_ sulking. Witchers do not _sulk._ ” Geralt paused. “I call you bard all the time.” 

Jaskier replied, “Yes, when you’re sulking.” 

The witcher snarled wordlessly at the bard and led them off the dusty road towards a copse of trees. “This is as good a place as any to make camp.” The witcher started taking care of the horse, slipping her bridle and bit off and putting on a soft harness and a long tether so that she could move around the clearing they had found. 

The bard snickered quietly, but went along with preparing the camp. By the time the witcher had returned to the clearing with a brace of rabbits, the fire was crackling and Jaskier had settled in to pluck idly at his lute. The witcher, however, was clearly still in a mood. 

After another hour of pointed silence from the witcher, Jaskier set his lute aside and invaded the witcher’s personal space. He settled next to the witcher on the ground, and rested his head on the witcher’s now-armorless shoulder. “Truly, Geralt, what is wrong?” He asked, quietly. 

The witcher grumbled wordlessly, but turned his face into Jaskier’s thick hair and buried it there. Finally, the witcher asked, “Am I that poor a conversationalist?”

Jaskier was silent, for a time, but laid a hand on the witcher’s arm when he felt him tensing. “Stop, I’m trying to figure out what I said that would make you think that.” 

The witcher settled, still obviously prepared to flee. Emotions were still disconcerting even after a decade with the bard at his side. “You said you’d not had such a stimulating conversation since Oxenfurt.” 

The bard made a noise of surprise under his breath. “Oh.” He turned his head on Geralt’s shoulder so his chin was resting on the point and nosed gently at the witcher’s cheek. “Oh, my dear witcher. You should know flattery and misdirection when you hear it. I know you have been in courts around the continent.” He laid a gentle kiss on Geralt’s cheek and then rested his head back where it had been. 

The witcher was silent, for a time, before he turned and pressed his face back into Jaskier’s hair. “I don’t sulk.” 

The bard snickered, unrepentant. “You do, Geralt. Roach agrees with me.” Roach, who had been watching this unfold with her wise eyes, snorted and tossed her head. “See?”

The witcher slid an arm around Jaskier’s waist and tugged him closer to his side, both of them leaning more companionably against each other. “I _don’t_.” When Jaskier snickered again, Geralt nudged his face into Jaskier’s hair and huffed, “Shut up, bard.” 

They settled into silence, listening to the sounds of the forest around them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favorite parts of the books I've read so far is the part where Geralt is sulking about his prospects in Witcher!modernity and how he complained about the troll at the bridge keeping it repaired.


	3. Rhetoric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a mob of angry villagers. Jaskier uses his skills as an orator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind, this is like the speech from Independence Day, or maybe from Pacific Rim. For any of you who teach, I'm sure you're also familiar with the "I can wait you out and settle a gaze upon you while waiting for the class to come to order" look. 
> 
> I think I need to tag this slow burn. 
> 
> Many thanks to you all for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting! I am so grateful to you all! <3

The pitchforks were new. Well, not too new. Geralt had found himself being chased by pitchforks before, the occasional village deciding that the fact that a witcher could kill the deadly beast an obvious sign that they were _also_ a beast and thus deserving of death by fire or stone or drowning or any number of other unspeakable horrors that humans chose to enact upon other species or each other. Nevertheless, the pitchforks in combination with the chanting and general miasma of evil were certainly new in combination with each other. 

Geralt had nearly freed himself from the multitude of ropes he found himself bound with when he heard a familiar voice shout, “ _STOP!_ ” Thunking his head back against the pole he was bound against, Geralt closed his eyes as he listened to his idiotic friend of a bard repeat the frantic cry. “Stop! Please, my friends!” 

Geralt snorted. _Friends_ . Granted, Jaskier had grown up in court but even he recognized that _friends_ was a bad term for the mob of angry villagers. He opened his eyes again, and looked out over the crowd which was turning towards the platform in the village center. Jaskier had climbed up the ladder resting against it, apparently recognizing that to stand upon it could be perceived as a power grab, but wanting to be seen by the majority of the angry villagers. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes at the bard, who was staring at him. Jaskier’s bright blue gaze was narrowed in anger, and his hair was fluffed up as if he’d been agitated and running his hands through it as he thought. Other than these two tells, not obvious to anyone who didn’t know him well, the bard seemed calm, his voice projecting sonorously across the space between them. 

The crowd booed and hissed at the bard, recognizing him as a companion to the witcher. Jaskier raised a hand, his gesture somehow calming. He had pulled his shoulders back and down, standing tall, despite hanging off a rough-shod structure. The bard listened to the bellowing, apparently content to wait until the crowd settled down. 

Like a professor waiting out an unruly group of pupils, Jaskier gazed out over the crowd. The villagers’ bellows and shouts slowly trailed off, as if they were unsure what to do with this seemingly lithe figure unperturbed by threats of violence. A lone shout from the now quiet crowd quickly tapered off when Jaskier turned his gaze upon the villager. 

Silence having fallen, Jaskier started speaking. “Come friends. Why are we turning upon our good Witcher, who has saved this place from unspeakable horrors of devourers and rotfiends.” At this the crowd began to stir, the anger seeming to come back alive. Jaskier held up his hand again, beckoning for silence. “Your village has been touched by war and faminine. Men are not kind, and this land has been pillaged by outsiders for far too long. Your anger is justified and your rage understandable. But surely it is better directed at those who have brought these creatures to your home, not the one who is ridding your home of them?” 

The crowd rumbled, the rage seeming to die away as they listened to the bard. Jaskier nodded, his usually cheerful expression solemn. “I have traveled long and far with my friend, Geralt of Rivia, and have seen many horrors. The suffering of your village should not go ignored. Other villages in this area have suffered similar fates, and the master witcher has helped your fellow townsfolk in villages in this area. Would your anger not be better directed in banding together with fellows across this land, and working together to overcome those who have brought war and famine and terror to this land?” The crowd murmured, and a shout of agreement from a few villagers was heard. Jaskier continued, again. “This is a time where allies should be formed. Would it not be better to have my friend, Geralt of Rivia as an ally? Is not the strength of a witcher better valued alive and in partnership with you?” This was met with a loud cheer. 

Jaskier raised a hand. “I urge you, reverse the actions you’ve taken thus far. Free my friend, and pay him his due coin and let us go from this land. Begin to create partnerships with other villages, and work together.” 

The villagers cheered. Geralt felt his bindings be cut away, and the village alderman cheerfully clapped him on his shoulder. “Master Witcher!” the alderman exclaimed, “My sincerest apologies. Your bard raises an excellent point. Please, go now, and with our thanks tell the tale of our village to others in this area.” 

Geralt took the coin with numb fingers, and tucked it into his cloak. Jaskier was working his way through the crowd, Roach’s reins clutched tight in his hand and his smile pinched as he met Geralt’s gaze. “Well met, Master Witcher.” Jaskier said, handing Geralt the reins. Geralt nodded. 

“Bard.” Geralt turned towards the alderman who had cut him free. He bowed his head. “Master Kinnian, I take my leave.” He quickly mounted Roach, who was prancing uneasily in place. Geralt reached down, offering his hand to Jaskier. Jaskier took it, letting Geralt pull him easily up behind him. 

Geralt spurred Roach on to the cheers of the villagers. He could feel Jaskier’s minute trembling behind him, the bard’s hands grasping tightly to the armor at Geralt’s stomach. Geralt pushed Roach hard, the mare’s fine attunement to her master and companion well-read. For a long period of time, the only sound was the rhythmic thunk of hoofbeats on the packed dirt road. 

After an hour’s hard riding, Geralt slowed the mare to a easier gait, beginning to scan the surroundings for a place to camp. They’d left the village late in the day, the unexpected violence following the killing of the necrophages surrounding the area an unwelcome end to a hard contract. Jaskier was still slumped against Geralt’s back. Finally hearing a distant stream, Geralt steered Roach off the road, carefully directing her towards where he heard a water source. 

Jaskier often liked to bathe after a long day, and that would be particularly true in light of the violence nearly taken out upon his friend. It seemed the least Geralt could do after the bard literally talked a mob out of murdering him. 

They reached the stream, and Geralt easily dismounted from Roach. He reached up, offering Jaskier a hand. The bard seemed to shake himself out of the stillness he’d settled into and he quickly slid off of his perch on Roach’s rump. The horse danced away from the pair, pulling eagerly at her bit to get to the water. 

They went their separate ways, the practice of making camp a familiar routine. Geralt untacked Roach, brushed her down, and led her to the stream. While she drank, he used the water to wipe the sweat away from her, using a rough cloth to rub at the sweat on her haunches. Once the horse was well-watered, he tacked her lead rope into a generous grassy patch and left her to graze. While he’d been tending Roach, Jaskier had set up a circle for the fire near a tree that provided cover should it rain. The bard was crouched next to the fire, idly poking at the blaze to kindle it further. Geralt crouched next to him, placing a gentle hand on the back of his neck. He squeezed it. “Alright, bard?” He asked. 

Jaskier nodded, and replied, “I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting a sudden violent end to the day.” 

Geralt snorted. “Such is the life of the witcher, Jaskier. You know that.” Jaskier nodded again. Geralt continued, saying, “I’m going to go hunt us some dinner. Keep an eye on Roach.” 

Jaskier didn’t reply, and Geralt stood to go hunt. 

He returned, about an hour later with a deer. Jaskier’s hair was damp, the bard having clearly taken advantage of the clean stream next to their encampment. As he settled into skinning the animal, Jaskier started preparing the fire to be used to cook. A brace was set up, and before long two long sizzling flanks of deer were roasting. It wasn’t often they indulged in a warm meal, but it seemed appropriate after such a shit day. They settled into companionable silence, rather than the strained one they’d ridden away from the angry villagers in. 

Dinner finished and their bellies full, the pair prepared to bed down for the night. Geralt was far too wary of the prospect of an angry villager coming after them, despite the distance they’d put between themselves and the village. He sat up on the log near the fire, preparing to meditate. Jaskier had curled down into his bedroll, but sleep did not seem to come for the bard. Finally, Jaskier stood and walked back over to sit down next to Geralt. 

It had been a few months since the incident with the talkative bridge troll, and since then Jaskier had been more intentional about freely touching Geralt. When he sat next to Geralt, it was to lean his head against the man’s shoulder and reach over with his hand and grab at his wrist. “I thought you might die.” Jaskier said, his voice quiet in the night. 

Geralt nodded, tucking his nose into Jaskier’s hair. This position had become familiar over the long months since they’d first done this following the incident with the troll. “I couldn’t let that happen when it was within my power to stop it.” Jaskier said. 

“I was grateful that you did, though I would have preferred you not put yourself in harm’s way.” Geralt replied. 

Jaskier sniffed. “Please, Geralt. I am a master orator. I have used my abilities to get many angry kings and lords to not kill me. What is a mob of angry villagers?” 

The witcher harrumphed. “So you didn’t need me that time in Cintra?” He said, prodding at Jaskier’s side. 

The bard yelped indignantly. “The _Lioness of Cintra_ is a different story, Geralt. I am but a lowly bard! I would never dare go up against her.” Geralt snorted again. 

Jaskier paused, the cheer fading from his face. “Truly, though, Geralt. I don’t know what I would do if you died when I could do something to stop it. I can’t promise not to interfere again.” 

Geralt nodded quietly. “Then you should learn how to fight, so that you can protect yourself.” He looked down at Jaskier, who was staring into the fire. Geralt lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s cheek. The bard looked up at him, brows raised quizzically. 

“I don’t want you to come to harm, either, Jaskier. You must learn to protect yourself with more than words or wit if you are going to do this again.” 

The bard nodded, settling his head back down on Geralt’s shoulder. Before long the bard had fallen asleep. Geralt sat the night through, listening to the soft noises of the forest, of Roach, and of Jaskier, his bard and barker. 


End file.
